and had placed the entire colony under virtual curfew. Communities’ social interactions had been reduced to a whimper and cultural life was disrupted as no one was allowed out before sunup or after darkness. The animals in the wilds were freer. One could not move from one part of the country to another without clearance from the local headman, who derived his authority from the white district officer. And every local had to bear the kipande on his neck like a dog, announcing his name and address. The parallels did not end there; as a dog’s collar attests him to be disease-free through a raft of vaccinations, a kipande around a man’s neck was his proof that he had been cleared by the colonial powers and did not pose a threat to his fellow man.
So everybody kept to themselves unless it was absolutely necessary to travel, making the crashing sound on the roof that much more perplexing. Era’s mother stepped out and was confronted by the sight of two tiny black boots, their surfaces scratched to reveal a brown core.
“Maze! Maze! Chukua viatu mimi nampa yeye!” Rajan sang from the fence.
Era’s mother sighed, dropped the piece of wood, and returned inside. “These Indians are full of madharau. If they want to give something, why not do it like a good neighbor? It’s a child who is delivering them . . .”
Era was beside himself with excitement. He had never worn shoes, and the sight of the black boots was overwhelming. But from the look on his mother’s face, he knew he had to employ caution.
“Go!” she urged Era in a savage whisper. “Go pick what has been thrown at you as one hurls stale ugali at a dog. If I see you in those shoes . . .” Once again, she left the threat hanging.
He waited until his mother went to work the following day before trying on the shoes. He dashed outside and got the washbasin—the heavy metal tub feeling light as he carried it, imbued as he was by the joy singing in his heart. He knelt at the water tank and opened the tap, the gentle trickle drumming a soft drone as it filled the basin.
“Don’t dare drain the tank!” Ceeri, Era’s younger sister, shouted.
He turned off the tap and sat on the grass patched unevenly on the red earth and washed his feet, then dried them quickly with a cloth. He was breathless with excitement as he tried on the shoes.
He attempted to squeeze in one foot but it was too wide for the shoe. He hopped into the kitchen and got a spoon, but even that proved futile in forcing the foot in. He used milking jelly to line the back of the shoe and thrust one foot in, then used the same trick on the other foot. But the shoes were so tight he could hardly stand, and he felt like a baby taking its first steps.
Era grudgingly removed the shoes and hid them, hoping to pass them on to a younger sibling when his mother softened. Months later, he couldn’t remember where he’d hidden them, turning Rajan’s generous gift into a terrible waste.
* * *
With Mariam’s return to the Jakaranda, Rajan could have finally and proudly proclaimed: I got a bird in the cage . . . even if the cage was borrowed. But Rajan was still unable to believe his good fortune. He remained hypnotized by her beauty, which shone through the dim light coming from the kerosene tin lamp in Era’s shack—the languid flame throwing shadows from one wall to another. Her eyes had a hint of blue, and they sparkled delightfully when she looked at him.
Upon arrival, Mariam had dumped her two bags on the floor and slumped onto the bed as though she had lived there all her life. Era returned with fresh linen for the bed before excusing himself to join Chege the drummer for the night. The band members were at liberty to arrive at another’s house without warning or explanation. Such was the brotherhood in the band; each understood that these adjustments had to be made to free up room for overnight guests. As the young men liked to say, they were fine even if they slept packed like sardines because sleep resides in the eyes.
Rajan motioned to Mariam to help him make the bed. She held one edge of the sheet and remarked: “I thought I was a guest but I can see I’m the housemaid already!”
Rajan laughed and said nothing.
As Mariam lifted her end of the sheet up, the slight breeze from this movement blew out the lamp’s flame, sending the room into darkness. There was a momentary silence, before they both collapsed onto the bed in a fit of giggles. It was in this state that Rajan received a kiss from Mariam. It bore the unmistakable lavender flavor.
This was followed by the rustle of clothes as Mariam undressed, before snuggling close to kiss Rajan’s neck and face. He undressed reluctantly, waiting for her to prompt him to shake off this or that garment. She was all over him, her warm, wet tongue coursing along his body with the swiftness of a serpent. Rajan remained completely still, paralyzed with fear.
He was trying to reconcile the different visions of Mariam that he had experienced. There was the Mariam lodged in his mind from that first kiss in the dark and the events that followed through the search. Then there was the returned Mariam, easygoing and seemingly at home wherever he took her. And now there was the Mariam in the darkened room, animal naked, her warm breath scorching his skin. When Mariam’s searching tongue reached his navel and coursed farther down, he went limp.
“What’s going on?” she asked calmly.
He said nothing.
“What’s going on, my friend?” she cooed again.
“I don’t know,” Rajan said earnestly.
“Relax, baby . . .” she soothed. “Relaaaax.”
* * *
And relax Rajan did—over the next few days, their naked bodies marked the passage of time. Clandestine meals were sneaked in to the two lovebirds at appropriate intervals from different kitchens. Arrowroots and sweet potatoes from Era’s mother’s kitchen, buttered naan bread and samosas pilfered from Rajan’s grandmother Fatima’s kitchen. Sweetened tea with milk came from both homes. Social mores decreed it was taboo for girls to spend the night at boyfriends’ houses, so it was sacrilegious to spend several nights together.
When Mariam was unable to find the keys to her suitcases, Rajan sneaked home yet again and returned with some of his own jeans and T-shirts. They were a perfect fit.
“Looks like you’ve been keeping my clothes,” Mariam remarked joyfully, slumping back into bed and snuggling closer. It seemed they could live this way for the rest of their lives.
* * *
A day is a long time for anyone whose singular preoccupation is to eat, drink, and sleep. Actually, one should say day and night, for if one spends the day eating and drinking, then he or she is unlikely to be sleeping. Establishments were starting to sprout up in Nakuru, declaring themselves to be day- and nightclubs. One presumed the daytime patrons would be different from the night owls, though that was not necessarily the case—Rajan and Mariam were partying day and night, albeit in the solitude of Era’s house.
By their third straight day together, Rajan trusted Mariam completely. He told her things he had never shared with anyone, not even Era.
There is something curious about humans’ desire to unburden themselves to complete strangers. Perhaps it’s because strangers, like a stream, flow on with their journeys by daybreak, minimizing any prospect for what has been shared being used against them. Or it could be that strangers make no judgment at all. Mariam had proven to be nonjudgmental on that first night when Rajan, overcome with fear, had failed to rise to the occasion. She had
